


Home Is Where the Heart Is

by turntechnologic



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble, Gen, HSWC 2014, Sadstuck, Speculated Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:29:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turntechnologic/pseuds/turntechnologic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fernweh, German, feeling homesick for a place you've never been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is Where the Heart Is

The worst thing about living here was how... present he seemed. A day didn't pass where you'd catch yourself looking at the door, anticipating the sound of keys in the lock before he gave up and kicked in the door. He'd throw his bags down and collapse into the futon, a huge grin on his face, and one only you would ever see as he'd say something along the lines of "Damn, Dirk. You wouldn't believe what I've been up to!"

It was a really childish thing for you to think about. Your brother was long gone- he'd left ages ago, without a trace, without a goodbye. He was probably dead. But still, some part of you was still waiting.

You felt like a guest in your own home. And, the worst part was, you knew it to be true. This wasn't your apartment. It was Dave's. 

Sure, you lived here. Sure, this was where you slept, where you ate, where you spent every minute of your day. This was where you laughed, and talked, and typed, built, created. But you couldn't call this place home. 

The word home had connotations, like warmth, comfort, family. Your bots weren't really warm- that was artificial heat, nothing at all like the kind of temperature your own body radiated. They weren't really comfortable, with all their sharp edges and corners and screws. You didn't see them as family, not really. At least, not yet. 

The only thing that really evoked feelings like that were those few, coveted snapshots of your brother smiling. Candid photographs of his genuine expressions, a quirk of his lips and eyes unmasked by those damn shades. There were maybe three pictures of him smiling like that in the whole world, and you kept all of them on the bedside table. 

Those three little pictures were the most homey things about the apartment. Maybe, years ago, it was different. Years ago, Dave would open the door, throw his bags down, crash into the futon and call out your name, eager to share a few details about his day, eager to hear something about yours. 

That's what you think of whenever you hear the word home. You had the right place, but your timing was a decade or so off. 

You try not to let it bother you too much, though. There was no use in feeling homesick for a place you've never really been.


End file.
